Already Gone
by silvermoonfae
Summary: One-Shot? Harry Potter is on the brink of breaking. He harbours many secrets and even those closest to him don't know the real him, only The-Boy-Who-Lived persona. He carries them alone until faith intervenes and someone happens upon him breaking down.


A/N OK so this was intended as a short one-shot whilst I continued with my other story. However I must confess I'm kinda gone on it already and I'm not sure if I will develop it a bit more or not. Anyway if you think so I'll give it a shot. Thanks and R&R! ~ silvermoonfae

**Already Gone**

Pain!

There it was – the release.

Flash of an arm.

Control!

Another quick arm movement.

Red. It was always his favourite colour. It was warm and symbolised his life and control. It provided him with a release he couldn't find elsewhere.

He held his hand aloft, emerald orbs dilated, staring transfixed at the steady flow running across his fingers. This literally was what it was like to hold one's life blood in their hands. And he relished the feeling, the control he had. It was almost as if all his problems were slowly ebbing away. His hurts and pains dripping from his fingers. His fears and secrets being bled out from his very being.

And as quickly as it came, it was gone. He sank to the floor, the cool white wash bathroom tiles snapping him back to reality. The rush was gone, and he mourned the loss. But for now he had control and knew that there was no need for more – for at least tonight anyway.

Sighing he relaxed, immersed in his own thoughts, staring sightlessly at his arm which now sported 3 shallow cuts and numerous scars in various stages of healing. Just one of his secret shames. One he didn't have the will power nor the desire to stop, for it kept him sane in light of the other burdens he bore. Without it he would have succumbed to insanity long ago. However, now he wondered if he was just delaying the inevitable.

He was sick and tired and yes, extremely angry at his lot in life. It wasn't fair! Sure life wasn't in general fair but why did he seem to carry more than his fair share of this in his short 16 years. He pounded his uninjured fist into the cold hard tiles.

Pain! It was good. It was real.

He continued to do so, silent tears of anger, fear and defeat coursing down his face, still relishing in the pain as he pounded incessantly at the tile floor.

All alone, on a deserted corridor, while the majority of the other students enjoyed the welcoming feast, the anger, fear and pain of one student huddled in the corner of Moaning Myrtle's Bathroom permeated through the very foundations of the mighty castle. Hogwarts itself shuddered in pain and sympathy, at the very memories now etched into the walls of the stronghold by one, Harry Potter.

***

Severus Snape was angry. Which wasn't unusual. He was angry at Potter, Dumbledore's newest machinations, Potter, the happy, cheerful state of the returning students and of course, Potter.

Harry Bloody Potter! The bane of the Potion Master's existence. He noticed he had left the feast early but thought no more of it. Probably trying to create more trouble for himself. Just thinking about Potter in general made him angry and irritable, bloody pretentious Gryffindor. Yet, even he had to admit, Potter had nothing to do with his current state of restlessness. He just couldn't stand the cheerful atmosphere of the Great Hall. He had to escape the sickly giggling students awhile and so very Slytherin like, he slipped out at a time he knew he wouldn't be missed by any but perhaps Dumbledore. He knew he had only an hour or two at most and so decided a walk was in order to calm his nerves and clear his mind.

Without his custom billowing robes or scowl which was usually present amongst others he calmly strode the dark halls, lost in his thoughts of the upcoming year.

Just as he was passing Moaning Myrtle's Bathroom, he was snapped from his thoughts by an incessant noise. He froze. 'What in Merlin's name!' he thought. Sounds of something being smashed were emanating from Myrtle's Bathroom.

Donning his customary scowl and menacing demeanour he wondered what delinquency was occurring within. Then he remembered Potter skipping the feast and his glare darkened. What was the brat up to now. With these thoughts he burst through the doors fully expecting to catch him red-handed. Needless to say he was shocked beyond comprehension.

Huddled in the corner, back against the white stone wash tiles was Potter. However, something was extremely wrong. Rivulets of blood streamed down one hand and he spotted a blood speckled knife discarded a couple of feet away. His other hand was completely mangled from pounding his fist into the floor.

Looking closer, he noticed that he seemed to sport bruises all over his arms and face and even some peeping from under his shirt and he knew it didn't stop there. It scared him. He saw something of himself in Potter, when he was at his worst and nothing of James Potter. But this was worse than he had ever been. Much worse!

What disturbed him the most was the empty, defeated gaze of The-Boy-Who-Lived as he stared sightlessly as his self abuse. This stirred him to action. Moving slowly he approached the boy and bent down to his level.

"Potter? Potter, stop."

Potter continued regardless, not seeming to hear a word.

"Po – Harry," he softened his tone " stop. You've done enough damage for now." He waited. Seconds seem to pass for hours, minutes like days. But after what seemed an age those emotionless orbs shot up to Snape's obsidian gaze.

"No one cared before." he whispered. "No one." And then it all gushed out. Years of silent pain and suffering given a voice. " I went back, year after to year to hell. The Dursleys. When I found out about the Wizarding world I thought I was saved," he stated tonelessly, his eyes seeing things only he could see. "I realised pretty soon that I was a mere pawn. A show boy for the light. People pretended to care but then dumped me back in hell every two months to handle the hell on my own. Do you know what it's like to be beaten everyday for no reason, just because you looked at someone wrong, your hair was too messy or just because they felt like it. Every year I would return here bruised ad broken. No one noticed – ever," he stated fervently. "Sometimes I would wish Voldemort would kill me but each time I somehow managed to survive," he said disgusted with himself. " Then to find out my life's only purpose is to kill the bastard because of a stupid prophecy and therefore I have a duty to fulfil before I can even kill myself. My life is a living hell, everyone I know only know me as The-Boy-Who-lived, not the real me."

Suddenly his eyes stared at Snape who had been sitting listening to him pour his troubles out and Snape thought he was probably the only person ever to hear them. "That's why I've always respected you sir. Despite how you hate me, you always were honest he stated to him, surprising Snape with his admission before going limp and slipping into the inky blackness of unconsciousness.

Snape couldn't believe it. And yet the pain as he spoke clearly pointed towards honesty. How had no one noticed their Golden Boy breaking, noticed his abuse and noticed his self harm, all of which had apparently been happening for quite some time now. No one really did know The Harry Potter, only The-Boy-Who-Lived.

Snape felt the ice surrounding his cold heart crack slowly and there was a tugging at his soul. This was Harry Potter, not James bloody Potter and it was now he realised this revelation. How wrong he had been all these years and yet by some miracle, the boy still respected him. He knew he was the only one out of everyone to know of the boy's plight, he had connected with Snape for a mere few seconds but by then Snape had already vowed to save him. But was it too late? Was he already gone?


End file.
